


Makes a Humming Sound

by BlackEyedGirl



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Robots, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackEyedGirl/pseuds/BlackEyedGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a little like the first time she saw him in costume: not completely sure what she wants from him, but trying his very best anyway. [Written for Porn Battle]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Makes a Humming Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV for prompts _costume, reenact, robot_

“Wow. You are really bad at getting into this.” Lizzie takes a long look at him. “Even for you, this is a new level of awkward. You’ve done this bit before!”

“'This' being,” and yes she can hear the air-quotes, “a roleplay where I impersonate you impersonating me as a robot. While in the bedroom.”

Oh, that is not what she said, or meant. And he knows that. Lizzie glares at him. “Hey. Hey. This was your idea. You're the one who was all 'I can totally be wild and spontaneous.' 'I know, I'll prove it. In bed. That'll go well and not be a disaster.'”

“You like costumes.” He fidgets, pushing his cap back straight. She is wearing her Lizzie costume shirt, over a set of her nicest underwear and no pants. He is wearing the cap and bowtie, plus a shirt because apparently wearing the bowtie with no shirt wouldn’t work. She chose not to question that. 

“Yes,” Lizzie agrees. “Very true. ‘Robot’, however, is not a costume. 'Darcy' is a costume, with the newsboy hat which you somehow make look awkward even though it's _your hat_. But it's not like it's a 'Robot Darcy' costume, like there's two of you and one's human and one's a robot and you're both here to-.”

“Lizzie?”

“I've said too much.”

He meets her eyes this time, expression turned considering. “And what are they doing, these- is sexbot the word?”

She giggles then, hasn’t a chance in hell of stopping it. Lizzie covers her mouth. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Just at the word sexbot. Mostly.” 

Darcy pushes her flat on the bed, arms held strangely and it takes her a moment to place what he’s doing. He’s being her, being him, being a robot. And it’s not like she doesn’t know he has a sense of humour by now, she gets that he smiles sometimes, and that he likes to make her smile. That vlog playing as Fitz was the first time she realised that he could _tease_ , when it was someone he knew well enough, when he wasn’t worried about getting it wrong. He makes a humming noise, taking her shirt off, stripping her out of her underwear. Darcy lies between her legs, and breaks character to ask, “I don’t imagine you wrote a script for this?”

“Nope. Improv all the way. And do you know what the number one rule of improv is?”

“I don’t.” He tips his head back to look at her and the cap falls off.

Lizzie curls her fingers in his hair. “You always say yes.”

Other people, people who have not dedicated so much time to analysing Darcy expressions to see what they have been missing, would not notice the way the corner of his mouth twitches. He makes a concerted effort at a blank robot face. “Yes.” Then: “Instructions?” and she thinks he’s broken character again but he’s looking at her with a blinking cursor of an expression and she keeps forgetting that he’s not always bad at this. 

“You could eat me out?” Her voice wasn’t meant to go up at the end there.

His breath catches – he is close enough that she feels it - but his voice is steady. “Was that a question?”

Lizzie’s face heats up, and it’s barely a whisper, but it isn’t a question. “Eat me out.”

Darcy settles himself down closer. His breath is warm, and Lizzie is clawing at the sheets just at that, at his breath against her own over-heated skin. She hadn’t noticed properly before just how ready for this she was, distracted by their game of verbal parry and thrust. Unfortunate metaphor. He licks, once, tongue flat over her cunt. Again, deeper. She spreads her legs wide, her heels pressed into his back. 

His tongue makes a point, circling her clit before pushing in. He sucks, lips right against her, firm gentle pressure which is nevertheless overwhelming. He reaches up, not looking, to settle one hand just underneath her breast, thumb digging in. It’s another point of contact and enough distraction to keep just enough from being too much. He pulls his head back for a moment to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, then her navel, and at the very moment she’s caught her breath his tongue is inside her, curling up, and she has to fight not to hurt him when her whole body goes taut. Her verbal filter, malfunctioning at the best of times, dies a death when she comes, gasping all kinds of bullshit she hopes he’s forgotten by morning but knows that he won’t.

Lizzie is barely forming words again but manages, “Here, up here, now.” 

Darcy crawls up and she gets her hand on his cock the moment their bodies are lined up close. It takes absolutely no time at all before he is doing the polite thing and rolling away in a hurry so he comes all over his own shirt instead of her stomach. He looks wrecked, and _surprised_ , and like he has no idea how that all just happened. She kind of knows the feeling.

Darcy cleans himself up, then looks at her like he might be thinking about offering to wipe her down too but decides against it. As Lizzie is not in the mood to move, that works out well. 

Lizzie reaches for an appropriate post-coital topic of conversation. “You’ve read Asimov, right?” Close enough. She knows that even if he hasn’t, by tomorrow he’ll be up for a good conversation about the awesomeness of Susan Calvin and the associated disappointments of Hollywood. He read Tolstoy for her.

Instead he says, “I’m familiar with the three laws, yes,” and this time she doesn’t laugh because it’s really not at him and she really is a little gone for this guy. She leans over and kisses his shoulder, making a little, “Beep, boop,” as she does it. She raises her eyebrows. “That’s what robots do, don’t get weird on me now.”

He says, “I love you,” and still manages to sound not unlike a robot when he does it. Not in a bad way, more like in a Spielberg movie where the bot is trying really hard to overcome its software limitations, or maybe it's Ridley Scott and the robot doesn't know at all. Like he means it as much as he can, even if it's not the way someone else would mean it. It breaks her heart, just a little, and on the other hand maybe her software's a little buggy too. They’re not programmed to jump in, they both collect all the data and have to constantly re-evaluate. Doesn’t mean it’s not just as deep, though they climbed down rather than leapt. 

Lizzie makes a whirring noise, feeling the vibrations of her lips against his skin. "Compute, compute." She stops, and rests her head on his shoulder. "Yeah okay, me too."


End file.
